


Thinking About a Revolution

by harper_m



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean may have been given the task of keeping Emma Frost out of trouble on her visits to the Mansion, but that doesn't mean she can keep her in line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking About a Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> For the femslash_today porn battle. Prompt: Emma Frost/Jean Grey, Hellfire
> 
> This plays on the time Jean (or Phoenix) spent as Black Queen in the Hellfire club under the manipulation of Mastermind as well as the time following her return to her true form, but before her marriage to Scott. And I really don’t know what I’m talking about, canon-wise, since I picked most of this up on various internet sites and haven’t actually read the comics, so please don’t eviscerate me on factual gaffes.

“Hello, Jean.”

Among the list of things Jean found disconcerting was the way Emma Frost could say her name as if it were a caress, or perhaps as a dirty thing that really should have been hidden away. It made her picture the ghostly image of lascivious things, and that always, without fail, brought the most unflattering of blushes to her cheeks.

“How lovely to see you.”

Jean wished that she could reply when Emma did these things to her, but in the face of that regal, knowing gaze she knew that anything she said would emerge as the senseless sputterings of an adolescent. So she sighed, nodded her head, and closed her eyes for a second, hoping that when she opened them again the look would be gone from Emma’s face.

“I thought you might enjoy having lunch in my office,” Jean said, ignoring the small smirk that let her know that Emma had picked up on the real reason for her invitation to dine away from the Mansion’s other occupants. Truth was, eating was always a tricky affair when Emma came to visit, what with most of the people in the dining hall harboring homicidal thoughts and only some attempting to shield them

“Am I now expected to cower in the face of their disapproval?” Emma’s voice was sharp and cool. “Am I so thoroughly despised by all of Xavier’s children that they’ve seen fit to give me a handler so that I won’t dirty everyone’s day? Though tell me, dear, did you volunteer for this duty or were you elected by committee?”

Jean supposed Emma felt that, given a reputation, she should try to live up to it.

She’d arranged to have a small table brought to her office for lunch, thinking that if she gave Emma the illusion of private dining, she might be less inclined to view the slight as unforgiveable.

Emma seemed only to recognize it as an opportunity.

“So you can see,” Jean said, faltering slightly as she felt the tip of Emma’s shoe slide sleekly along the side of her calf. She blinked twice, rapidly, a bit of salad dangling precariously halfway between her mouth and the plate, as she tried to discount as incidental the touch that continued to creep increasingly higher. “You… you can see that a shared curriculum…”

“Aren’t you bored with this, Jean?”

When she chanced a glance at Emma, she looked entirely unperturbed. Had she not been pondering the right moment to shift subtly, taking herself out of Emma’s reach, Jean would have wondered if perhaps there was someone somewhere enforcing a hidden agenda, someone playing tricks. Someone who wanted her to think that Emma Frost was rather blatantly flirting with her.

Choosing to ignore the foot creeping ever higher, Jean slowly lowered the fork to her plate and considered the question as if it hadn’t rudely interrupted her speech on the need for academic coordination between the two mutant campuses.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Emma. Is it the content of the curriculum you find boring? If so, I’d be more than happy to hear any suggestions for modifications you might have.”

A pale brow arched in bemusement. “They’ve frightened you back into a little mouse, haven’t they,” Emma murmured, lips curling up into a faint half-smile. “Still afraid you’re going to try and rule the world, hmm? Or haven’t you noticed the way they treat you?”

Jean stiffened, pushing her plate away, the subject a wound slow to heal. “Transference, Emma?” she replied coolly.

She’d meant the words to be a cutting reminder, but when she received a smile instead of a scowl, Jean found herself at a loss.

Nearly purring, Emma reached forward over the table, lightly running the tip of her finger down the curve of Jean’s jaw. “Ah, there’s the fire. Such a pity you keep it banked.”

Jean felt a shiver run down her spine. She chose to label it foreboding.

“The things we could do.”

Jean wrapped an iron hand around Emma’s wrist, forcing her arm back down to the table. Voice razor sharp, she hissed, “Perhaps you have forgotten who I am, and who I am not.”

Unfazed by the implied threat, Emma merely smiled again, this one full of predatory intent. “I’m in no danger of that.”

******

Emma didn’t return for another month, though Jean wasn’t entirely certain why she continued to visit at all. As far as she knew, Emma never really conducted any serious business while she was at the school, certainly nothing that couldn’t be handled over the phone or through e-mail.

“Jean, always a pleasure.”

Jean hadn’t bothered to change, coming straight from a half hour in the danger room to greet Emma upon her arrival. She’d told herself after their last meeting that she wasn’t going to go to any extra trouble for the other woman, but now she wished she’d at least taken the time to swap her tight black leather pants for jeans.

Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, the lock crimson with sweat, she nodded curtly. “Emma.”

“And have you arranged another private luncheon for us?”

Still hyped up from her use of the danger room, Jean found herself desperately wishing she could knock the arrogant look off of Emma’s face with a well-timed right hook. Instead, she leashed her burst of aggression, burying it in a frown. “If that’s what you would prefer, I’m sure it could be arranged. Although, I was under the impression you preferred to reinforce to everyone here that you gave less than a damn about what they thought about you.”

“They already know that. Given a choice between the two, I’d much prefer a cozy tête-à-tête with only you.”

As much as Jean would have liked to refuse, they both knew it was better that way.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’re really here,” Jean said irritably, closing the door behind them as they stepped into her office. “Or, maybe you’d rather waste more of my time pretending to discuss official business.”

When she turned, it was to find Emma just behind her, so close that a half-step brought them to within inches.

Emma’s expression was more smirk than smile. “If you insist,” she said, and with unnatural speed, her palms were on Jean’s temples. She took another step forward, pressing them back against the wood of the door, and maybe she was tired from the danger room, Jean thought, because her hands felt weak around Emma’s wrists.

She was tired. So, so tired. Her eyes fluttered closed, her knees lost strength, and she slumped against the door, Emma’s grip never slackening.

It was a memory, neatly excised and perfectly preserved, and she’d stepped directly into it.

Jean opened her eyes, staring into the reflection of Emma as she stood in front of a full-length mirror. Despite herself, she felt a rush of heat at the sight of her, standing there in little more than white leather bikini bottoms and those ever so inappropriate thigh-high white leather boots. Emma was long and sleek, pale yet seductively inviting, glowing in the reflected flicker of the fire. It blazed in the fireplace to her left, soft crackles and sharp hisses cutting through the quiet of the room, and Jean began to wonder why Emma was bothering to show her this unexciting, if private, moment.

And then she heard it – her own voice.

“I promise it’s much warmer over here.”

Jean knew that timbre, had used it before, and was well aware that it only meant one thing.

She watched through Emma’s eyes as the White Queen, and she understood now that this was what she was seeing, turned to face the origin of that voice.

Jean gasped.

She’d never seen herself look quite like that, as she did in the muted glow of the fire. She was wearing a long black cape, the fabric thick and soft, and she’d thrown the material back over her shoulders. Underneath, she appeared to be quite naked, save her own pair of thigh-high black leather boots. Her hair was down around her shoulders, wild and tousled.

She looked positively wanton.

“Yes,” memory Emma replied coolly, her words bouncing around inside Jean’s skull. “But that heat comes with a price.”

Jean watched her alter self smile, and it was a smile unlike any that had ever graced her face, wicked and full of promises. “The price is well worth it.”

“And why would I want to share my power with you?” Emma challenged, and Jean could feel the psychic echo of her memories, lingering traces of the negotiation into which Emma had pulled her. “I see nothing to gain in a move that only makes me weaker, not stronger.”

“Then you need to change your perspective,” alter Jean crooned, reaching up slowly to undo the single tie holding her cape in place, letting it slide to the floor with a muted hiss. “I see no gain for me in weakening your power.”

In the memory, Emma snorted softly, but Jean could feel her desire. “Then what? You wish to depose me and take it all, completely? Not a weakening so much as a coup?”

Alter Jean took a step forward, and then another, and soon Jean could almost feel her heat. “Together we can only be stronger. Together we can be unstoppable. Partners, in every way.”

“And you think you can seduce me into following you in this quest for unstoppable power?” Emma questioned sharply, though she did not step away when alter Jean brought her hands up to cup warm cheeks.

There was a soft laugh, the languid darkening of emerald eyes. “Not at all. Seducing you, Emma, is a personal desire, not a political one.”

She felt the first teasing brush of lips against her own as she was pulled free, the return to the present jarring and disconcerting. “Shall I show you more?” Emma asked, something in her eyes vicious. “That was only the beginning, of course. I had you every night. Or, I suppose, you would probably contend that you had me.”

Breathing shakily, Jean gasped out, “That wasn’t me.”

Tilting her head to the side, Emma looked at Jean speculatively. “The details of your little Phoenix incident are sketchy, I will admit, but one thing has always been quite clear. You were Phoenix and Phoenix was you, both the dark and the light. Your body might not have been the one that warmed my bed, but Phoenix didn’t change the fundamental essence of you, Jean. You are one and the same, but unlike you, she didn’t hide from the parts that weren’t quite pretty enough. And, I must say I quite enjoyed her tenure.”

Jean had heard, of course, about Mastermind’s plot to make her into the Hellfire Club’s Black Queen. It had been the beginning of the end, really, as his manipulations had put into motion the chain of events that had led to the destruction of the Phoenix. But, knowing that the Phoenix had been able to operate quite efficiently in the Hellfire Club and seeing her in action were very different things, and Jean wished desperately that she couldn’t feel the heat of it between her thighs.

“Is that why you’re here?” she spat out, feeling panic wrap itself around her heart and squeeze. “Do you think you can pick up where Phoenix left off, well on your way to world domination? Do you think you can recruit me as her replacement? Tell me, Emma, what is it that you want?”

Emma blinked slowly, and when she refocused her gaze on Jean, it was hot enough to burn. “I want what every lonely woman wants, Jean. To be reunited with her lover.”

Jean nearly laughed. “Your lover?”

Defiant and yet strangely vulnerable, Emma fastened wary eyes on Jean’s and waited.

Reading something of the truth in the expression, Jean did laugh. “Your lover is dead,” she said harshly.

Emma again moved quickly, her hands coming up to wrap around Jean’s upper arms in a fierce grip. “No. Parts of her may be gone, but she is still here.”

Remaining still, not yet willing to turn the encounter into a struggle, Jean said calmly, “We are not the same thing, the Phoenix and I.”

“She absorbed your consciousness, did she not?” Emma questioned, voice a menacing hiss, and Jean could feel the heat of her burning into her skin, the pantomime of an embrace nearly stifling her with it. “All of you was within her. She set free the parts of you that you held back.” 

Clarity came as a shock wave, clearing away everything in its path. “You loved her,” Jean said, and the words sounded almost like an accusation.

Though she didn’t move, Emma seemed to draw back into herself, to grow hard and brittle. But, as much as Jean could see she wanted to lie, she didn’t. “I did love her. I loved you.”

The kiss that followed the desperately whispered words was hard and demanding, as if Emma could will Jean into acquiescence through sheer force. Jean told herself she was going to pull away, that she was going to laugh at Emma in scorn, to recount the time she’d seen the mask of ice shatter for the amusement of her friends.

Instead, she kissed her back.

The fire was hot against her skin, almost uncomfortably so, and it took Jean longer than it should have to recognize the feeling as phantom, as part of the memory Emma was forcing upon her.

“God, yes,” Emma said, her voice throaty, and Jean felt the silk of hair brushing her breasts. She wanted to reach forward but couldn’t, pain in her wrists and strain in her shoulders filling in the blanks. Her hands were behind her back, the shackles thick and the chain between them short; a moment more and sharp teeth were biting hard into her nipple. The pain rolled through her. She would have begged for more, but that was part of the Black Queen’s game and she refused to play it. Instead she closed her eyes and fell into the pain, dispassionately taking note of the way her heart started to race and her knees to weaken.

“Should I worry that you’ll melt?” Alter Jean asked, hands sliding down Emma’s back. She dug sharp nails into the curve of her ass, heat on heat, and Emma shivered. One hand released only to come down in a sharp spank, and Emma had to hold back a throaty laugh.

Between the fire at her back and the Black Queen at her front, Emma thought worry might be appropriate.

A foot hooked behind the back of her knee and pulled, and Emma faltered. Hands on her shoulders finished the job, and she found herself on her knees in the thick carpet, looking up. She licked her lips, sure she’d never seen a more beautiful sight than Jean Grey towering over her, hair tumbling over her shoulders to curl around perfectly curved breasts.

“I’ve heard rumors of your skill,” Alter Jean said, another wicked smile on her face. She tangled her hand in Emma’s hair and pulled hard. Emma took in a deep breath through her nose at the delicious pain of it, and when she opened her eyes, only the barest of centimeters separated Emma from the wetness between Jean’s thighs.

And then that wetness was on her tongue, and Jean’s moan filled the air, lush and deep. She wanted her hands free so that she could touch, could claw and scratch, but there was something so thoroughly satisfying, too, about the harsh bite of metal into skin.

The freedom of abandon washed over her, and she allowed herself the joy of sinking into the moment. She tested the strength of the shackles, reveled in the sharp pain of roughly pulled hair, and settled deeper into the carpet beneath her knees. The sweet taste of Jean on her lips provided her the permission for which she’d never beg, and she surged forward, captured Alter Jean’s clit between her lips, and began to suck.

Jean plunged, disconcerted, back into the present. The cool air of the office was a shock. She was breathing hard, the muscles of her abdomen pulled taut, and it was an effort to keep herself from rubbing away the phantom pain in her wrists. Emma was pressed against her, face close, and Jean had to close her eyes to escape the other woman’s gaze.

“Emma,” she said, voice rough. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the images still playing so vividly in her mind’s eye.

Whatever else she might have said was muffled beneath the press of Emma’s palm against her lips.

“Consider it,” Emma said shakily, clearly as affected by the memory as Jean. She, too, shook her head, but Jean could see the ghost of the memory lingering about her with a resonance as tangible as if it was a physical being. Her next word came out as a plea, despite the snarl. “Please.”

When the door closed behind her, leaving Jean alone in her office, she collapsed back against it, trembling. She brought a hand to her lips but couldn’t bring herself to scrub away the taste of Emma’s kiss.


End file.
